


(Unrequited) Love Sucks

by SneakyHufflepuff



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/pseuds/SneakyHufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is in love with Natasha. Natasha is not in love with Clint. </p>
<p>For the times when love is true and good, but it still doesn’t work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Unrequited) Love Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is _not_ a UST story. Read at your own risk.

Clint ground his teeth as he waited for Phillips to finish his beer and return to his apartment. Phillips didn’t know it, but he was on HYDRA’s hit list. It was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s job to make sure that he never knew the danger, and returned to his crusade against human trafficking without realizing just who he’d pissed off. Odds were that another one of S.H.I.E.L.D.‘s team would stop potential assassins before they reached Clint, but he was used to the odds not falling in his favor, and kept his eyes on the entrances just in case.

Clint usually appreciated jobs like this, the straightforward ones that didn’t give him nightmares, that didn’t leave him wondering if he was doing more harm than good working for S.H.I.E.L.D. But it was 2 A.M., and all Clint wanted to do was go home and collapse into his hotel bed. He was slightly tipsy from the two beers he’d drunk to maintain his cover, and soon he’d have to buy a new one to have a reason to stay. No one ordered alcohol-free drinks in this place, a run-down bar just outside of London proper where cigarette smoke was ingrained in the walls from the decades before smoking bans were passed. At least the bar -- no -- pub, he kept on forgetting how different the language was here, was the type of place where they left a man alone with his thoughts.

A hiss in his earpiece from Patel reminded Clint of the other reason he wanted this part of his mission over and done with. Natasha had asked for, and received, a week’s worth of vacation time, so now he was stuck with an overeager rookie.

“Clint?” Patel asked from the van outside, clearly waiting for a response before remembering that Clint couldn’t speak without looking like he was talking to himself. “They caught the first assassin, and have eyes on the second.”

Clint sat back in seat and cleared his throat to show that he understood. With any luck the mission would be over, and he would return to his lonely hotel room. If Nat was there, they could have hung out, watched television, ordered room service and tried to pin the bill on S.H.I.E.L.D.. Sharma was too junior of an agent, and too rigid, to do the same. He supposed he could “pick up” (he could _too_ speak the local language, despite his handler’s insistence that he never try to pass as anything other than American) like he usually did when he felt lonely, but it just felt like too much effort.

Phillips shifted on his bar stool. Clint’s heart leapt, thinking that the man was about to leave, then Phillips merely moved to greet a friend in a soccer -- no, football -- jersey, before returning to the bar and ordering another round. Their easy companionship left an ache in his heart. Fuck, he missed Nat. Missed having someone to talk to about knives, missed having her talk to him about fashion. It should have annoyed him, the ungodly amount she spent on shoes and clothes, but it was just another endearing trait among many.

Clint took another drink from his mug and tried to clear his mind of thoughts of Nat. It didn’t work. Invariably his mind returned to the downside of having a superhot, supersmart partner. She knew how he felt; she must from the way he looked at her. Hell, men had been looking at her that way since she was thirteen, and God, didn’t that thought make him sick to his stomach. She knew how he felt, and had very clearly decided that she wasn’t interested.

Clint was self-aware enough to realize that he wasn’t really boyfriend material. He was too old and too battered to be good for Nat, but he would have tried. He would have done all the compromise and thoughtful stuff that he’d never remembered to do before, like bring her coffee the way she liked it every morning, even if she insisted on adding in enough sugar to sink a small boat. He could imagine her in his bed, her hair in disarray, mouth curved in the genuine smile that was rare enough to be worth gold.

Clint closed his eyes and deliberately brought himself out of the fantasy. Nat’s endless rotation of boring civilian significant others was her choice, what she wanted. He had her friendship, and, something he’d never thought possible, her trust. When she laughed at his jokes and made fun of his sporting teams, it wasn’t love, but it was real.

“Second assassin is captured. Mission accomplished.” Sharma’s crisp vowels pulled Clint out of his half-tipsy state.

He left the pub, and it was like he had never been there at all.

\---

Natasha stretched lazily as she woke up, enjoying the body heat of Sara next to her and the luxury of sleeping in to eight o’clock in the morning. S.H.I.E.L.D. had yet to manufacture a crisis that she needed to fix, so she had nothing to do all day, except enjoy her vacation. It was glorious, and in that moment, everything was perfect. Then a siren blared from the street outside her apartment and she levered herself out of bed.

An out of shape spy was often a dead spy, so Natasha reluctantly pulled on her athletic gear and headed to the gym down the street to do an abbreviated workout, nothing too impressive as she was training next to civilians.

Two hours later, glowing with accomplishment, her hair damp with sweat, Natasha left the gym. She had begun to weave her way through a mixed crowd of New Yorkers and tourists when the left side of her jacket buzzed with a text. She fished her sleek phone out her pocket. Clint. _Found the perfect souvenir_ , it read, above a photo of the most hideously ugly teddy bear she’d ever seen, dressed in a sweater with the Union Jack on the front. She laughed, half from the joke and half from relief. For Clint to be sending texts meant that the mission was over and that he wasn’t seriously injured. Good. That meant she wouldn’t have to hurt Patel for letting her partner get in harm’s way. Still, it worried her that she was the person he always texted. He’d been growing steadily more infatuated with her the last few months, and was obviously having a hard time keeping it in check. She hadn’t commented on it, for the sake of their partnership, but it was beginning to worry her. Natasha shook her head and slipped her phone back into her pocket; she was on vacation, and she was going to enjoy it.

Walking down the streets of New York was always an experience, especially for her. From behind her, a snippet of Russian from some construction workers, in front of her, a couple of tourists exchanging rapid fire Italian about the newest fashions. Natasha walked back to her apartment, enjoying the fact she didn’t have to rush, her lower back and hamstrings pleasantly sore from the deadlifts that had formed part of her weight routine.

By the time Natasha got to her apartment building she was hungry, her stomach rumbling as her body demanded she replace the calories she had burnt in the weight room. Her hunger turned ravenous as she headed down the corridor towards her door and smelt a mix of vanilla, sugar and bacon. She opened the door, juggling her workout gear and her keys. The noise of cutlery banging together and the sizzling noise of grease in a pan confirmed it. Sara was making breakfast.

Sara leaned out of the kitchen, tea towel slung over her shoulders. She was wearing one of Natasha’s t-shirts, and nothing else. Natasha let her eyes run over her girlfriend’s legs.

“Welcome home, Nat,” Sara said, eyes bright. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just went to the gym.” Natasha replied. She thought of Clint’s text as Sara walked towards her, a smile on her face. Maybe she could set up Clint with Lucy from Accounting? The brunette wouldn’t put up with Clint’s shit, and she was gorgeous to boot. Clint deserved someone who was as good for him as Sara was for her. Then Sara started to kiss her way down her neck and all thoughts of Clint fled her mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Despite the timing, this most definitely doesn't count for Femslash February, where I have a couple of different fics planned :)


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